Twelve Days of Monstermas: Day Nine (female rakshasi x reader - SFW) (Patreon)

Whuff, this is another 7.5k word one. It's maybe more story-orientated, rather than relationship-orientated, but I really enjoyed crafting this world, characters, and politics for you. I hope you enjoy it, and that you like meeting this badass warrior white lioness! 

I know I said yesterday that this was nsfw, but I cut it because it just didn't feel right. I hope you don't mind. Tomorrow's, a nonbinary avian based off a bearded vulture (masculine presenting) will be nsfw though. 

“It’s the White Lioness!” the shout went up from the head of the trading caravan, and your heart lurched wildly. The ominous, bobbing flicker of torches held aloft, burning an unnaturally bright white in the night, confirmed the scout’s message few minutes later. 

Sat astride a centaur whose coat was the colour of campfire smoke, you leaned forwards and whispered in his ear, “What do you reckon? If we stay, we’ll be captured or slaughtered, but if we leave, they could pick us off in the dark…”

He knew the importance of the message you carried. It had to reach the capital, and if the White Lioness’ pride of marauding rakshasa destroyed the caravan, it would never make it. Peace among the five kingdoms was fractured enough as it was, and if you failed to deliver Queen Ruthena’s message to your own king, the tentative, fragile peace talks could crumble before they had hardly even begun. 

“Run,” he said, shifting his delicate hooves in readiness, coiling like a mantis about to strike, just waiting for your word. “I’m rested, and the moon is hidden tonight. We’ll be alright.” He was light boned and slender, fit and lean, the perfect companion to a messenger like you, and you’d been a perfect team for years. 

You nodded in silent agreement, pulled your dark, hooded cloak closer around you, and peeled away from the column of merchants as panic began to ripple along the line of caravans. The pitifully few orcs and minotaurs who’d been hired to guard it began to heft weapons uneasily, but you and Threftwyn slipped away into the night like a cat’s shadow. 

At first, Threft moved quietly, taking care that his hard, unshod hooves didn’t clop loudly on the rubble and grit of the prairie, but once you both thought you were at a safe distance, he picked up the pace to a fast trot, and then an easy canter. 

Just when you thought you were safe, a figure sprang from the bristly underbrush and brought a huge warhammer swinging up in an arc that made Threft whinny in distress, veering sideways on instinct to avoid being clobbered with it. Luckily, he missed the blow that would undoubtedly have shattered his human ribs, but his violent swerve unseated you from the lightweight saddle and you fell to the hard dirt with a grunt, the air knocked instantly your lungs. 

Threft reared, hooves flashing, and your attacker ducked, giving you time to stagger to your feet and draw the long knife from your belt. 

It was only as you looked up, blinking the sparks from your vision, at that you saw the creamy, silver-white coat of a rakshasi lioness in the soft shadows of the night. 

“The White Lioness?” you breathed, cursing the way your voice cracked and squeaked. 

The rakshasi bared her canines and growled softly, shifting her grip on the huge haft of the axe. She was beautiful, all muscles and power and gleaming fur. “Her daughter,” she snarled softly, her voice a deep, husky alto. “But no less dangerous…”

“I don’t doubt it,” you said, swallowing nervously. 

Threft called your name, distracting the rakshasi’s attention from you for long enough that you could spring at her. Her ear twitched, and she twisted, her spine as lithe and flexible as a rope, and she leapt at you, bringing you down to the ground and pinning your chest down with her paws. The warm, tough leather of her palms might have felt nice under different circumstances. As it was, the prick of her claws as they slowly edged out, digging into your skin where your pulse pounded frantically, was decidedly less attractive. 

“Please,” you hissed. “Please, there’s no sport in killing me.”

“I don’t kill for sport,” she spat derisively, her whiskers flaring wide as she raised her lips to snarl at you. Gods but she was powerful. One twitch of her fingers and you’d be dead. 

“Then what’s all that for?” you asked sourly, your eyes darting to the caravan that was beginning to go up in flickering flames, the violence silhouetted against the night sky like some gruesome shadow puppet show. The screams of terrified merchants drifted with the smoke on the wind, and you struggled briefly under her grip. Threft was standing, shaking, a little way off, clearly wondering if he should run and take the message to the king himself while the rakshasi was occupied with you. Half of you hoped he would, and the other half feared that he would leave you alone with her. Even if she let you go, it would be a long walk back to the capital without him. 

The rakshasi surprised you by sighing and sitting up, letting go of you, though she still seemed coiled to spring at you again at a moment’s notice. “I may be no less dangerous than my mother, but I’m not so sure there’s much honour in slaughtering fat merchants.”

“Please, let us go,” you said. “I have an important role to play in bringing peace between two countries. If I don’t show up, there could be war. Hundreds more could die. Please, you have to let me go.”

Her tail flicked and she growled softly to herself. A low, curious call from one of her companions went up from a bush not fifty paces away, and she paused, wondering whether to answer truthfully or not. “Do not make me regret this,” she snapped at you. “Go.” 

You scrambled to your feet and practically vaulted onto Threft’s back. He didn’t need your heels at his sides to tell him to launch into a desperate, flat-out gallop, and you clung on for dear life as he careered across the landscape, burning through his pent-up adrenaline and leaving the rakshasi far behind to explain to her comrade why she’d let one lone rider escape. 

Once the lights of the burning caravan had dwindled, you reached forwards and touched Threftwyn lightly on his shoulder. “Easy,” you called above the rushing wind in your ears. “Easy, we’ve got a long way to go yet.”

His chest heaved, but he listened to you, and the two of you slowed to an exhausted canter, then a trot, and finally a stumbling walk. “That was way too close,” he rasped when he’d finally caught his breath. Sweat and foam coated his equine chest, and he shivered, adding, “I should trot or I’ll get cold. Is that alright?”

“Sure,” you said, your thighs aching from holding on during his wild gallop. 

The rest of the journey to the capital passed without drama, though it was a long time before you stopped that night to make camp. Threft always slept outside your tent, either standing up or by folding his knees beneath his equine body and crossing his arms across his human torso, napping like a human sitting by a fire. He would only lie flat out in the comfort and safety of his stall in the capital’s centaur barracks. You each snatched a few hours of much needed sleep, taking it in turns to keep watch, and then pressed on as soon as the first light began to gild the peaks of the distant mountains above the grasslands. 

You passed a large company of the mounted heavy cavalry galloping in the opposite direction about an hour after sunrise, and the two of you exchanged anxious looks. Would your message arrive too late to stop war breaking out? There was nothing to do but press on. 

By the time you trotted in through the lower gates of the city, the thick, limestone walls gleaming in the hot sun, and both of you were dusty, a little dehydrated, and utterly exhausted, but glad to be home. You slid gratefully off Threft’s back and hugged him, ignoring the smell of sweat on his coat as you gripped his withers. He patted your back and chuckled. “We made it, boss,” he joked, using his familiar nickname for you out of the deep affection of a long friendship. Yours was an equal partnership, but he nearly always took your lead. 

“We did, thanks to you,” you said, stepping back and looking up at him. His face was weathered and tanned, lean and perhaps even a little gaunt, and his long, grey-black hair hung down his back in a messy, windblown, dusty ponytail. 

He shook his head. “You held your nerve with that rakshasi… I don’t think I could have been so cool… I think she was impressed.”

“Maybe that was why she let us go,” you shrugged. “Anyway, I have to go report in, and then I’m going to spend at least three hours in the steam baths.”

“Mmm,” he hummed happily, shaking his whole body and making his tack and saddlebags jingle, “Sounds good. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

You reported first to your captain, and then excused yourself to go straight to the prince. It was the prince to whom you owed your strongest allegiance. Ever since he’d pulled you out of the gutter as a small, ragged, anonymous street urchin, despite his being only a few years older than you, you had been his, completely. His father had objected to the little prince making friends with a little ruffian, but the queen had seen the wisdom in it, and had encouraged your friendship. Yes, over the years your relationship had changed: now you were as much his personal spy as you were his friend, but your affection for the royal basilisk had never faltered.

As you knocked on the door of his chambers, you realised just how foul you smelled, but there was little you could do about it. This was an urgent message, and if you waited, it could be too late. If it wasn’t already. 

You were admitted by Charis, his serving man, who took one sniff of you and stepped back with a face that somehow managed to be blank and yet show utter disgust at the same time. You nodded politely at him in what you hoped he’d take for an apology, and strode forwards, bowing before your prince. 

Someone unfamiliar with the flat, golden stare of a royal basilisk might have imagined themselves turned to stone just at the sight of them, but in fact, royal basilisks - and many others besides, could control the magic of their gaze at will, otherwise they would hardly have had much of a kingdom to rule over. Prince Siikoh was as formidable as any basilisk, with a thick, gold and green tail, studded with lethal spikes and plates, and iridescent scales which melted up into the warm, brown skin of his muscular upper body. That day, the scaled patches that decorated his solid shoulders, chest, and neck were bare of silk covering, and you lowered your eyes in deference as he turned to face you, though not before you had glimpsed the wall of glimmering scales that ran right the way up his human spine, disappearing beneath a flowing curtain of loose, black hair. 

His golden circlet was plain, and utterly befitted the prince whose tastes were for simplicity and order. His chambers were stark to the point of austere, but while the room may have seemed cold, and while he was fair and polite to most, he was always warm, even a little shy, with you. 

“My friend,” he said, slithering towards you, his harsh, humanoid features warming, his large eyes glowing ominously at the sight of you. You, however, knew that just meant he was experiencing some strong emotions, not that he was about to add you to the statuary in the palace gardens. “You look terrible…”

“Gee, thanks, Siik,” you snorted, keeping your head lowered as you always did in greeting to the eldest of the royal family’s offspring. “And after I rode all this way with Threftwyn, almost all at a flat out gallop, having faced the White Lioness’ daughter herself, to bring you word from Queen Ruthena.”

His shoulders softened and he sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You deserve better than my snide and terrible sense of humour. Thank you. What message do you bring?”

You fished in your leather bag and drew out a scroll case and handed it to him. “Here.”

His long, taloned fingers made short work of the seal, and he let his golden eyes skim over it before closing them and holding his breath. 

You waited, not wanting to interfere in matters of politics, but when he just stood there, breathing steadily for what felt like an eternity, you asked, “My prince?”

“It’s good news,” he finally sighed. “The Queen has agreed to a peace council to discuss treaties with our nation. And by then, the issue with the White Lioness’ gang of thugs should be dealt with too.”

“Oh?” you asked, instantly curious. 

He nodded and turned back to his desk, setting the scroll in a chest and locking it with a key that lived around his neck at all times. “We dispatched an entire cavalry company yesterday morning to capture as many of her pride as we can. They’ve grown too bold in their warmongering, and it’s threatening too many trade caravans.”

“I know,” you said darkly. “Ours was attacked. I barely managed to get away with Threft.” You decided to leave out the details of how your encounter with the daughter of the White Lioness herself had gone. Part of you - a large part of you - hoped that she would have escaped unscathed. 

You excused yourself not long afterwards, and headed down towards the baths to clean up, pushing all thoughts of the beautiful rakshasi from your mind. However, it was when the cavalry company returned two days later that you saw her again, and you realised your hopes for her freedom had been dashed.

Shouts went up from the lower gate, and word travelled through the city that the White Lioness herself had been captured, along with half of her pride. You and Threft, who had been sharing a much needed mug of ale in a tavern in the lower city at the time, had shot to the door and raced out into the street to see the procession. It was a spectacle indeed. 

“You want a better view?” Threftwyn asked, looking down at where you strained and peered to see over the heads of the milling, gathering crowd.

“Sure, thanks,” you grinned, vaulting up onto his bare back and settling yourself just in time to see the magnificent rakshasi warlord brought in. The act drew the attention of a few bystanders, given that centaurs barely ever let anyone sit astride them like that who was not their lover, but you ignored the looks and focused on the procession. Let them think what they liked.

The officers in charge of her had hitched up two huge oxen to a sturdy wagon bed, to which had been bolted an iron prisoner cage. The White Lioness was seated inside it, gazing straight ahead as imperiously as if she were a queen upon a litter. She looked like her daughter, you mused, only older and even more impressively muscled. 

Behind the wheeled cage walked a figure, with wrists bound and a crude rope halter around her muzzle, whom you recognised instantly. She looked even more beautiful in the late afternoon sunlight than she had done in the darkness of the deep night, and your heart ached to see such a powerful and beautiful being brought low by restraints and ropes. Her silver-white fur was marred and spattered with pink and red stains, indicating that the fighting had been messy; the White Lioness’ pride would not have gone down without a terrific struggle. 

The fifteen or so rakshasi - mostly leonine, though some had the spotted coats of leopards, and there was one with soot-black fur, and a slender female with the features of a cheetah - were paraded along the main street of the city from the lower gates right up to the palace, where the king and his son and three daughters received them with grim expressions. 

You and Threft followed the pressing crowds that trailed the miserable convoy of prisoners, discussing what you thought would happen to them. “Slavery most likely,” Threftwyn murmured darkly. “Or the fighting pits.” Bandits and convicted criminals who refused to do penance in the form of hard labour in the mines and quarries were forced into slavery and sold to other countries whose laws and standards were even lower than some of those most archaic in this kingdom. 

Your heart sank at the thought of what might become of the young lioness you’d met, and you resolved in that moment to speak to Prince Siikoh about it. Never once in your long career as the prince’s friend, spy, and messenger, had you ever asked for any kind of favour, but now you felt compelled to ask for his intervention. 

And so it was that you made your way to his apartments later that evening. 

Knocking nervously on the solid wood of his door, you heard a soft grunt of surprise and then silence. A moment later, the door opened and you were met with the groggy face of a prince who had been disturbed from sleep. 

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted as he rubbed his eyes. “I… I didn’t know you were asleep…”

“Jussst an impromptu nap,” he slurred, inadvertently letting his forked tongue lisp - a sure indication of his fatigue. “What’s wrong?”

“I… may I come in for just a moment?”

“Of course,” he smiled, organising his tangled tail with only a little difficulty so that you could step through the doorway as he waved you inside. 

As he looked expectantly at you, you said hopefully, “I… I need to ask you a favour, Siik…”

“Assk,” he smiled. “You never ask me for anything. Please, what is it?”

“I… wait, what will happen to the White Lioness’ pride?”

“They will be put to hard labour to pay for the crimes and atrocities they have committed. Why?”

“One of them spared me. Her daughter…” you said, your gaze falling to the floor. “Please… Please don’t send her to the quarries, Siik… Please.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Why? Why should she be spared?”

“Because she spared me. I owe her.”

“You owe her for her not killing you?” he asked acerbically, eyes flashing. 

Your fingers curled into fists at your side. “The kingdom owes her too, Siikoh. She risked the displeasure of her pride to set me free when I told her I had to get to the city. I told her it was necessary for peace, and she nodded and let me go. She wants peace, Siik, I’m sure of it.”

The basilisk prince’s eyes narrowed and he turned thoughtful. Eventually, when you prompted him to speak again, he turned to look at you. “Half of the pride escaped,” he admitted. “If we can get them on our side, they could be a formidable force in our kingdom.”

“You want to use the daughter to win them over?”

“I want you to use the daughter to win them over,” he said. 

Your heart sank. She was so much more than a diplomatic tool, a pawn in the wider political game. 

He clearly sensed your reluctance, and hissed a soft threat. “You’ve done far worse for me in the name of the kingdom’s prosperity and peace,” he said in a low voice. “What’s so different about this?”

“It’s personal, Siik,” you said. 

He folded his arms, but didn’t say anything for a while. “I trust you to handle this however you see fit, but I think it would be beneficial if you were to get her and her remaining warriors on our side. In order to do this, I will reward you with her as your personal slave tomorrow in the gifting ceremony. It will be for services rendered to the crown, and the heroic delivery of a message of peace which brought about the talks with our long-time enemies.”

Your heart sank still further, but you nodded, knowing you could not get around him. She would not take kindly to this. 

He slithered closer to you and tilted your chin up to look into his face. “You have a good heart, my friend,” he said. “You care so deeply. I’m sorry I and my kingdom must use you like this. Tell her the truth if you like - if you think it will help. If she really is as noble as you seem to think, surely she’ll be willing to help us bring stability to our nation?”

“What do you intend to use her warriors for?” you asked. 

“Eradicating the remaining warlords,” he said. “The eastern plains have been left to their own infighting for far too long. It’s time to bring that rabid corner of our kingdom under control and free up the trade routes once more. I’m going to arm them and bolster their ranks, and let them loose on the remaining bands - under our command, of course. Any among those bands who agree to join the army will be allowed to do so on the condition that they do not take up arms against crown or citizen.”

You had to admit it was a good idea. If the remaining members of the White Lioness’ pride could be convinced in the first place, of course. 

The following morning, you accompanied the prince to the assembly, which felt partly like a trial and partly like a military ceremony, and graciously accepted the ‘gift’ of the White Lioness’ daughter as a personal slave. 

Her face when she recognised you made your heart turn to ice and slip sideways in your chest. The betrayal in her amber eyes stung worse than any physical injury she could have inflicted on you. 

“She will be brought up to your chambers in the palace after the ceremony is over,” the prince announced before moving on. Whatever words he spoke next vanished behind the ringing in your ears as the rakshasi stared you down, unblinking, with rage and hatred and betrayal in her gaze. 

The moment you were alone in your rooms, you washed your face, trying to bring a little life back into yourself, but scarcely had you towelled the water off than there was a knock at the door and two guards brought a hissing, spitting rakshasi into your room at spear point, a heavy iron collar around her neck and a chain dangling from it.

“Uh… at the prince’s request…” the one on the right said. 

“Thank you,” you said. “Leave us.”

They backed nervously out of the room, clearly thinking they’d be called back to clean up the mess of your murder in a matter of minutes, and closed the door behind them. 

“Hear me out,” you said quickly, knowing you wouldn’t have long to act before she did indeed spring at you. “I have a plan.”

“And that involves making me a slave?” she snarled, advancing on you. “I helped you, and this is how you repay me? By putting me in chains and a collar like a fucking animal?”

“Wait,” you begged. “Please. Let me explain.”

And, to your surprise, she did, if more than a little warily. 

You told her everything; all of Prince Siikoh’s plans for her pride and the other warlords, and she simply stood there and listened. When you’d finished, she remained silent, thinking, her tail twitching occasionally behind her. 

Eventually, her gaze snapped up to meet yours, and she spoke. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll play along. But I’m not being your slave.”

“No,” you agreed. “You’re going to be my bodyguard.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “You’re going to arm me?”

“Sure,” you said. “I trust you. And even if you betray that trust, the guards won’t let you get very far.”

She took in the meagre furnishings in room and snorted. “You’re not exactly all that important around here - I mean, sure, you delivered some message or whatever - so why would you need a bodyguard?”

You inhaled deeply and chuckled. “I probably don’t, but I’m more than just a messenger for my prince. I do have some enemies. I could use an extra pair of eyes to watch my back, and so could you right about now.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t seem very good with that little knife the other night,” she laughed. “If you like, I can show you just where to stick it…”

“I’d rather you not stick a knife in me,” you said, letting more suggestion into your voice than you’d intended. 

She picked up on it instantly. “Something else then?”

“Let’s get to know each other a little better first, eh?” you snorted. “And we can start by you telling me what I can call you.”

“Bashira,” she said, her tail flicking again. “You can call me Bashira.”

Your first week with her was interesting. She trailed you everywhere, drawing astonished looks from the members of the court and capital who saw her hovering at your shoulder like a white spectre. She never spoke a word to you, however, until she saw Threft approaching. “I wondered when you’d introduce me to your horse boy,” she growled in your ear. 

You rounded on her. “‘Horse boy?’ And you complain about being treated like an animal?”

Bashira merely shrugged and bared her massive canine at Threft as he approached. 

“It’s true then,” he said staring wide eyed at you. 

“What’s true?” the rakshasi demanded immediately. 

“You’ve agreed to help us,” he said coldly. You knew him well enough to detect the stiffness to his posture, and you suspected that a predator like Bashira could sense it too. 

She cocked her head to one side and looked between you and him. “For now,” she said. A heartbeat later she added, “You two really aren’t fucking, are you?”

Threft went bright red and choked on his surprise, while you just turned and raised your eyebrow at her. “What on earth made you think that?”

She shrugged. “I figured you were from the way you acted when I first found you. Guess I was wrong. You don’t swing towards horses? Or is it men you don’t care for?”

Threft snorted and stamped a hoof, kicking up angry swirls of the dust. He hated being referred to as little more than a messenger horse, and nothing was guaranteed to get him worked up faster. 

“Easy,” you said, turning to Bashira. “He’s one of my oldest and closest friends, not that I’d expect you to know about friendship with your charming manners. But you need to respect that.”

“Or what?” she asked belligerently. “You’ll send me to the fighting pits? Please. At least I’d see some more action than I do trailing you around through your boring life.”

“I’m sorry that it’s boring,” you said, letting genuine regret seep into your tone. “But for now, it’s what we have to do. Soon we’ll head out to the plains, and try to find the rest of your pride.”

Threft clenched his jaw and balled his fists. His chest was heaving with anger. “What’s to stop her from killing you? Or leading you into a trap out there and setting her filthy pack on you?”

“Pride,” she corrected hotly. “Pride. Packs are for dogs.”

“Yes, prides are for cats,” he countered. “Prideful, spiteful, warmongering cats.”

The need to diffuse the situation became more apparent as the two took a step towards the other. Normally Threft was an easy-going centaur who kept himself to himself, but being this close to Bashira was drawing out another side of him that usually remained dormant. “Threft,” you said, but he half reared and half pranced, shifting and snorting. 

“No,” he choked. “It’s fine. You put the needs of the kingdom before everything else. You always have. I don’t know why I expected this to be any different, but I thought our friendship meant something more to you than it clearly does.”

“Threft, wait!” you yelled as he turned and cantered away, pushing roughly past a guard and heading out into the city, ignoring the minotaur’s sour curses. 

“Didn’t think the little colt had it in him,” she chuckled. “He’s feisty though.”

“Don’t,” you hissed at her, and to your surprise, she shut up. “His family was killed by rakshasa when he was tiny. He witnessed everything they did to them, and then galloped all the way here to the capital still covered in their blood. He was catatonic for over a year. You do not get to pretend you know the first thing about him or how brave he is.”

Without another word, you stormed back to your rooms, not caring if she were following or not. 

Bashira let you slam your door in her face, and left you to your private anger. This was such a stupid idea. How could you ever expect to win over someone who had been raised by a warlord like the White Lioness. All she knew was fighting and backtalk. Threft was right: she’d probably wait to get you and the small company going with you alone, and would then rally the rest of her pride and slaughter you for the fun of it. But her words on the night she had first found you came floating back into your mind a second later: “I don’t kill for sport.” You wanted so desperately to believe that. 

A light draft, sneaking in through the open door announced the arrival of someone in your rooms an hour or so later, startling you out of your reverie. You set down the book you’d been staring at, unblinkingly, unable to focus. “Come in,” you said without much thought for who it might be. 

A figure slipped in and you almost didn’t realise that they had crossed the space between you before you found a knife flashing through the air towards your heart. Lurching to your feet and grabbing the pitcher of water on the desk, you smashed it over their head, and they reeled backwards, bleeding from the temple where you’d struck them. “King Radovind sends his regards,” the figure spat as they launched themselves at you for a second attempt. 

You fought and flailed, putting all your training to use, but the assassin was terrifyingly skilled in close quarters combat, and you knew you didn't stand a chance. If only you hadn’t pissed Bashira off. Then again, maybe she’d just have stood there and watched. 

A second later, a roar filled the room, and the assassin was knocked off you as a wall of white fur and muscle barrelled into them and pinned them to the wall. You scrambled shakily to your feet. “Wait! Don’t kill them!” you croaked, even as the foam began to froth at the assassin’s lips. 

“Too late,” she growled, letting go of the body and letting it fall to the floor in disgust. “Poison.”

Then she turned to you and fixed you with her intense gaze. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head. “Shaken, but not hurt.”

Bashira stood there a moment longer, and then sank to one knee. “I’m sorry,” she said, bowing her head. 

“What?” The gesture had taken you so completely by surprise that your usually eloquent mouth failed you. 

“In return for my eventual freedom, I was tasked with protecting you, and I failed.”

Your eyes went back to the assassin’s corpse in the corner of the room. “I wouldn’t call that a failure,” you said. 

“I should have been here,” she said quietly. “I should have protected you. They never should have got in here, let alone that close.”

“It’s fine,” you sighed, starting to tremble from the adrenaline of it all. 

Guards’ footsteps began to sound in the hallway, and the door burst open a moment later to reveal the captain of the watch. “We heard the commotion,” he said, staring at the rakshasi on her knees before you and the corpse of the assassin in the corner. 

“I’m unhurt,” you said. “Bashira saved my life, though not before they took poison. I need to speak with the prince immediately.”

He nodded. “We will sort this out.” 

You gave a curt nod in return and said, “Take the body to the cells to be examined more closely. There might be clues.”

He bowed and called for his men to fetch a stretcher to carry the assassin away. 

“Come on, Bashira,” you said shakily, striding from the room. 

Half way up to the prince’s chambers, she laid a huge paw-like hand on your arm, forcing you to slow your marching pace. “Wait, are you sure you’re alight?” she asked.

“Why do you even care?” you snarled. “First you seem to want to do nothing but provoke me and hurt the only friend I truly have in this place -” other than the prince, you thought, “- and now you’re telling me you actually care if I’m alright?”

Her ears swivelled back a little and her head dropped. “You’ve treated me fairly…” she began haltingly. “I come from a world where you fight for everything you want: food, rest, a place by the fire, respect… If you get captured, you fight for your freedom. I didn’t want to try and understand that you were willing just to give me that. And I had to do was agree to fight for you.”

“You have to fight with us,” you amended. “You have to bring your pride in and agree to fight the people you were already fighting.”

“That’s just it,” she said. “That’s not much of a sacrifice. I don’t understand why you’d ask so little of me in return for so much. You won. You beat me when you captured me. I don’t understand why you’re giving me so much more than I deserve.”

You sighed and leaned against the castle wall. It was cool against your back and you felt a little calmer for its steady pressure against your back. “Is peace between two warring kingdoms really something so small? With the warlords crushed, we can trade peacefully with Queen Ruthena. Our kingdoms can prosper again. And you can give us that. You and your pride. I need you, Bashira. My kingdom needs you. But you don’t really need us; me especially.” You pushed your fingers through your hair and sighed. “I don’t doubt you could escape if you really wanted to. If your honour as a captured warrior wasn’t so high, that is. You could escape, find your pride, and carry on murdering and marauding across the lower grasslands if you really wanted to.”

“What if I want more than that?” she hissed. “What if I want more than a life lived by the blade?”

You smiled. “I know you do,” you said. “That’s why you saved me just now. You want peace as much as I do, so you can fight legitimately…” It had a nice poetic balance to it, you supposed.

She shook her head. “I saved you because there was no other choice for me in that moment. You were not going to die, and I was the only one who was going to make that happen.”

You took a tentative step towards the fierce warrior and smiled, laying a hand on her forearm. She wore the leather cuirass of a mercenary, having been allowed to keep her own gear, but her battle axe and warhammer had been kept in the armouries. Her claws were her blades now, and her muscles enough besides. In the quiet of the stone corridor, the mighty rakshasi warrior began to purr softly at your touch. 

“Come,” you murmured. “I need to speak with the prince.”

“You want me to wait outside?” she asked as she turned and followed you on silent feet. 

You shook your head. “I want your opinion on what happened too.”

After the incident with the assassin, attitudes towards Bashira changed about the palace. The prince’s favoured servant and courtier had been saved by the hand of the White Lioness’ daughter, and she found herself treated with a little more respect, bordering at times on friendliness. On evenings when you were not working, you spent them mostly in your chambers, either too exhausted to go out or simply sitting quietly with Bashira. She told you stories of life on the open plains, and occasionally you played cards or a game she taught you with nine pieces of polished stone on a board. She only managed to beat you roughly half the time, which was satisfying, and you loved her grumpy little purr when she lost to you. 

Threft was still furious with you, but you didn’t realise just how angry he was until you went to the stables about a fortnight after the assassin incident, with a message in your hand to deliver to the duke of an estate not far from the capital, only to find another rider settling into place on his back. 

You froze, unable to take in the sight of someone else partnered with him. He was touchy about who he let near him, let alone ride him, and yet there was someone you didn’t even recognise, shortening the stirrups of the saddle that you rode. 

He turned and saw you standing there, almost swaying on the spot, and glared at you before trotting away with his new messenger partner astride his back. The sight left you gutted, and it wasn’t until a hand landed on your shoulder, gently enveloping it, that you looked around and saw Bashira gazing down at you. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It’s my fault.”

You couldn’t breathe. 

Tears sparkled in your eyes as pain blossomed in your chest at the betrayal. “Now I guess I know how he feels when he sees me around you,” you murmured. “But gods, that hurt so much.”

She rubbed her thumb along your collarbone and purred softly. “You sacrifice so much for this kingdom,” she said, her words echoing the sentiments of the prince. “I’m sorry that so much of it is because of me.”

You shook your head. “No, Bashi, it’s not your fault. I want to be able to bring peace, but not just between the warring kingdoms: I want folk to get along. I want…” tears still choked your throat as you tried to continue. “I want… I want to change everything.”

She swept you up into a hug and pulled you close to her, regardless of the staring passers by. She stroked your hair and purred softly against you. Her coat smelled beautiful, like the lavender soap she used, and something uniquely her. You wanted to lose yourself in it and forget about the world for at least an entire day. “It’ll take more than a few steps to change the world, sweet one,” she murmured. “Come, let’s deliver that message.”

“I’ll have to find someone else to take me,” you sniffed. “And Threft’s probably turned them all against me or something…”

In fact, he hadn’t, and you were able to find a palomino centaur who was perfectly happy to do the short run to the duke’s estate with you. Bashira loped easily alongside the two of you as the centaur trotted, her high tail flaring out behind her, and as you tried not to concentrate on how different her paces were from Threft’s easy strides, you vowed to make things good with him when you got back. 

The return journey was interrupted, however, when a figure stepped out onto the road up ahead, and Bashira instantly went rigid. “Stop,” she said, and Gira halted, hooves digging into the soft silt of the dusty track. 

“What is it?” both you and Gira asked in hushed voices.

“My mother’s pride,” she replied, ears flicking about, straining for sounds in the grasses around you. “That’s Vhanti.” 

A truly huge male rakshasa had taken up a stance in the middle of the road that said he was not prepared to let them past without a fight. 

“Three others will be circling behind us as we speak,” Bashira went on. “We’re trapped.” She looked up at you. “Will you let me handle it?”

After a brief pause, you nodded. 

She left you and stalked imperiously along the road towards him. They spoke for a long time, and Vhanti called a second figure out from the underbrush a while later. The second leonine rakshasi joined the conversation, and you and Gira watched with bated breath. “What’s the plan if this goes sideways?” Gira whispered a while later. 

“You run,” you said. 

“Without you?”

“Yeah.”

“No way.”

“You have to tell them what happened, and there’s nothing as quick as a centaur… You’ll need to tell them she didn’t betray us…”

Gira snorted and shuffled her hooves. “I don’t like it.”

“Me neither,” you said. “But what choice do we have. If anyone’s going to bring them round, it’ll be her.”

After another ten minutes of waiting, the three other rakshasa from the pride, who had closed the rest of the trap behind you, made themselves known by standing up and leaning on throwing spears or the long hafts of battle axes. Shortly after that, Bashira turned and walked back towards you. 

Her face was unreadable, probably on purpose, but you swung down from Gira’s back the moment she was close enough not to be overheard, and she nodded. “We’re yours.”

“What?” you asked stupidly. “You did it?”

“Course I did,” she grinned playfully. “I know them better than anyone. Turns out steady pay and guaranteed action is a lot more attractive than what they’re currently doing, which is picking off helpless merchants while they wait for my mother to reappear, which she never will. They’re rudderless without a leader.”

“They’ve got one now,” you said, and she nodded grimly. 

“Let’s go back and tell your prince they’ll meet us outside the city walls in four days.”

Siikoh was delighted and slightly disbelieving when you passed the news on, but he told you to go and relax after the ordeal, and that he would see about giving you a promotion, and perhaps an estate of your own for all the trouble you’d gone to and all the success you’d had. “You’ve singlehandedly brought this kingdom to the closest it’s been to peace in over a hundred generations,” he grinned, all his myriad sharp fangs on show. 

“Not singlehandedly,” you said, turning to Bashira who stood modestly behind you. “I couldn’t have done any of it without her.”

Her tail swished and she took half a step back. “You’re alright on your own,” she mumbled, but she couldn't hide the rolling purr in her chest. 

Once outside the prince’s rooms, you closed the door and turned to face her. She looked so earnest, and yet so sad. “Bashi?” you asked. “In all this, I’ve never stopped to ask you if you’re alight…”

Her lips pulled up into a soft smile and she bowed her head. “It’s a big change,” she said gently, “But I think it’s for the best. And… thank you,” she said, reaching out her hand for your arm and gripping it firmly. Her skin was warm and smooth, and it sent a shiver through you. “If I’d have been sent to the mines or the fighting pits, none of this would have happened. I know a proud warrior like my mother won’t last long in chains, and I wouldn’t either.”

“How do you feel about your mother?” you asked as you began to walk together down the stairs from the prince’s apartments. 

She shrugged. “She was hard on me,” she said. “She saw me as the inheritor to her rule, but not as her daughter. She was never kind or motherly to me. She’s a warlord. That’s all she knows. It’s not entirely her fault: it’s the way she was raised. I don’t want to bring up the next generation of the pride in an environment like that. They need stability and shelter, nurture and kindness too. This will be a good move for everyone, I know it.”

“You’ll bring them all that,” you said sadly. “When you go back to them.”

She said nothing, and you paused at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m going to go and see Threft,” you said. “I need to make things right between us.”

“I’ll wait in your rooms then,” she said. “If you don’t mind.”

You shook your head and tentatively put your arms around her. 

Her breath caught for a moment, but she embraced you back, and even began to nuzzle her cheek and chin against the top of your head, that purring rumbling to louder life in her throat the longer she held you.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” you said sheepishly as you stepped back. 

Bashira only smiled. Then she turned and padded gracefully down the corridor that would eventually lead to your room. At the far end, she paused and saw that you were still watching her. “Take as long as you need. I’ll be there when you come back.”

“Thanks, Bashi,” you said. 

With one final nod of her head, she disappeared out of sight, and you turned away to make things right with your best friend.

Do let me know, as always, if you enjoyed it by leaving like, and a comment if you feel like it. 

As I said, tomorrow's is a bearded vulture (link to a photo in case you need reminding) avian, named Gharadyr (pronounced 'garr-a-deer').